I used to wonder how in the world the Israeli citizens survived the ever-present threat of shootings, bombings, or terror attacks.
I got a small taste of that experience when I was in Africa in 1998 for three weeks and Al Qaeda had a $10,000 bounty on American heads.
For the first several days, there was the feel of a threat in the air. We were on full alert all the time, checked under the vehicles for bombs, and generally never relaxed our guard.
After a time, one just continues to function. It’s not that one gets used to the threat — it’s rather knowing that, sooner or later, the threat will manifest itself and one will have to deal with it at that time. In the meantime, one goes about one’s business. One learns to live with the “new normal.”
When I began Clinical Pastoral Education training at Piedmont Fayette Hospital (under the auspices of The College of Pastoral Supervision and Psychotherapy) some 13 weeks ago, it wasn’t as a new minister or a rookie that was unfamiliar with hospital routines.
Yet, in the 44 years I have been visiting hospitals, it has always been as a guest, an outsider, coming to visit people with whom I have a relationship. But this was different. This was as an insider. I quickly discovered that the hospital is far from routine. It is, in fact, unpredictable.
In the beginning, I dreaded the “codes” that would come. I thought, “How will I respond? What will I do?” And, come they did: Code Stroke, Code Blue, Code Stemi, Rapid Response Team, even a Code Red. Sometimes, the code wouldn’t be called at all but the hospital operator would call and direct one to a floor where a tragedy had happened or was in the making.
After a time, one knows that the codes or calls are coming and no one can predict when or what one will face. The only certainty is that they will come every day.
It’s not that one gets “hard,” or unfeeling … there is always an underlying compassion felt for those whose lives have fallen apart. It’s more that a “new normal” is in effect.
Once, a phone call after midnight signaled that something bad had happened to someone I knew and cared about. Now, a code can come at any time, day or night, and I am about to enter into the lives of people I have never met. People whose lives may have been forever changed.
There is always the pressure to do the right thing or to say something that will, at the very least, not compound the sadness and grief people are experiencing.
A good job done by a chaplain might be forgotten in an hour while the memories of a bad job will linger in the minds of the families for years.
Yet, at the end of the shift, as best I can, I put them out of my mind. I have done what I could do and no amount of ruminating will change what I did or did not do.
I do try to learn from my experiences and those of others. But, so far, I have not carried the problems home — for the most part. There have been exceptions. The exceptions still come to me in the night.
I can easily see how one could experience burnout. There’s a great deal of emotion that is expended in sorrows or emergencies. I suppose that learning to deal with that reality is also part of the new normal. Hopefully, I am learning to do so.
This is not to say that I understand living under the threat of attack or invasion or terror. Knowing a code is coming and responding to that urgent need on the floor, or in the emergency department, or in the ICU, is not in the same league as going to the supermarket knowing that a suicide bomber might enter at the same time.
Still, it has been interesting adjusting to the “new normal.” For the most part I am at the hospital from 5:30 to 8:30 a.m. during the week and, when I can, I serve on the weekends. I still have my normal responsibilities as a priest and as a denominational official.
I have discovered anew that people do what they must – whatever it takes – to survive and even to thrive. We are a resilient species and are capable of doing much more than we imagine. We can meet nearly every challenge and overcome most every obstacle.
We only have to adjust to whatever “new normal” life brings us and move forward.
[David Epps is the pastor of the Cathedral of Christ the King, Sharpsburg, GA (www.ctkcec.org). He is the bishop of the Mid-South Diocese which consists of Georgia and Tennessee (www.midsouthdiocese.org) and the Associate Endorser for the Department of the Armed Forces, U. S. Military Chaplains, ICCEC. He may contacted at frepps@ctkcec.org.]
